


Sing For Me

by YouAreTheUnforecastedStorm



Category: Mozart l'Opéra Rock - Mozart/Baguian & Guirao
Genre: Background Relationships, M/M, Minor Injuries, Minor Sexual References, Mozart Loves His Voice, One panic attack, Pining, Salieri Sings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-26 15:23:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17748422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouAreTheUnforecastedStorm/pseuds/YouAreTheUnforecastedStorm
Summary: Mozart didn't mean to walk in on Salieri while he composes, but stays listening to hear his surprisingly enchanting voice. Since then Mozart is determined to hear more of that voice, and learn exactly what these exciting new feelings he holds for his fellow composer are.





	Sing For Me

Another opera commission, nothing incredibly unique for Maestro Mozart, but still it put an extra spring in his step as he walked to the music room of the palace to test out some more ideas he could play with. The short heels of his shoes clicked as he walked, fingers already tapping on the strap of his satchel as he thought of different piano arrangements, what to switch out or remove to make the best opera possible.

Arriving at the closed door of the music room, his hand reaching out for the handle abruptly stopped before his fingertips could brush the cold metal. He blinked at the sound of singing coming from inside, gentle and melodiously dark, words chaining together like grapes on a vine, wrapping around Mozart’s body and freezing him in place as the words poured in his ears and coursed through his veins. He held his breath as he noticed a quiet violin supporting the vocals, soft as honey and beckoning him to close his eyes and listen.

Mozart smiled serenely, taking a deep breath and wrapping his fingers around the door handle, half tempted to stand outside and listen to the singer until the end of the song. Unfortunately, he’d never been a very patient man, and the temptation to discover who the owner of this enchanting voice was took control all too easily. Slowly, he pushed the door open, poking his head in and opening his eyes to fall upon the only person in the room.

Surrounded by golden light pouring through the window behind him, Antonio Salieri stood with a violin held delicately between his chin and shoulder as the bow ran up and down the strings with the utmost care. His gaze was locked on a small pile of papers leaning against the window, trailing over the handwritten music as he sang, not taking notice of the young composer.

Mozart stared at Salieri as if he were an angel on Earth, and with how the light cast a soft halo around his frame he certainly would have looked the part, only being held back by his dark attire and hair, but Mozart found that only all the more alluring about-

… Alluring? A part of Mozart’s mind wanted to turn away from Salieri to ponder on that thought but Mozart shoved it away, finding Salieri’s peaceful smile far more interesting. He’d never seen Salieri smile before. Sure he’d seen him try to hold back a smirk or hold in a chuckle at one of Mozart’s witty rebuttals to one of Rosenberg’s attempted jabs at his talent or when he’d joke about something insignificant, but this… This was the smile someone only revealed when in a completely safe space, in the presence of a lover or close family. Though for Salieri, Mozart thought he showed a smile like that to no one, no matter the level of trust between them.

That part of Mozart’s mind that had spoken up before was back, reminding him that there was almost no level of trust between him and Salieri, no matter how many attempts Mozart made to befriend the man. Again, though, that worry was shoved away because _oh, that high note_. Mozart closed his eyes once more, his fingers curling as Salieri’s voice resounded throughout the room and stabbed into his heart. Oh, he could listen to- wanted nothing more than to listen to this man sing from dawn till dusk…

… Until an offending slam of piano keys brought both men back to reality, Salieri whipping his head in Mozart’s direction as he lowered the violin and held it close to him as Mozart jumped and removed his hand that had fallen on the keys- how did he get halfway across the room?

“If you were offended by my composition, Mozart,” Salieri began, taking the music sheets from the windowsill and walking over to a table with a satchel and violin stand, “you could have just said something.”

“Wait, no no no, Maestro Salieri! I was just- I…” Mozart stuttered, knowing that Salieri wouldn’t appreciate him admitting to staring at him for so long. “Your composition was lovely, truly- I was just trying to rest my hand on the piano and must have misjudged where my hand was really-”

“I’ll leave you alone then.” Salieri slung his satchel over his shoulder and placed the violin carefully in the stand, stepping back and turning to Mozart. “I have a lesson to attend shortly.”

“Are you sure, Maestro?” Mozart dashed over to Salieri, meeting him halfway to the door. “You seemed to be invested in your composition-”

“Until next time, Mozart-” Salieri reached out his hand to open the door, only for Mozart to place his hand over it before he could, resulting in Salieri covering the soft back of Mozart’s hand with his calloused palm, instantly pulling it back. Not out of disgust or contempt, Mozart noted, but like he was overwhelming Salieri with a brush of skin. Strange… he wondered… 

“Wait, Salieri, if you would,” Mozart reached into his satchel, and rummaging through the loose papers and quills until he found the bundle of papers he was looking for and took it out, holding it out to the interested composer, “I’ve begun work on an opera one of the nobles has commissioned, though something feels... off about what I have so far. Would you be able to read through it and tell me what you think when you get the chance?”

Salieri looked from the papers to Mozart, curiosity getting the better of him and compelling him to take the opera in his hands, holding it as if it would shatter if held even a little too roughly. He glanced over the first few lines of music with half lidded eyes, standing for a few moments longer than Mozart thought he would; hadn’t he just said he had a lesson to get to? Yet here he was, practically devouring his music with his eyes. 

“Maestro?” Mozart spoke up, Salieri ever so slightly jumping at the sound of his voice. He was good at hiding his feelings and vulnerabilities, Mozart noted, but there were some tiny breaches, some seams in Salieri’s armor present. From what, he wasn’t entirely sure just yet, but they were there nevertheless. Mozart’s curiosity demanded he delve deeper and break apart those seams, a goal he had every intention of achieving.

“Ah, forgive me, Mozart.” Salieri cleared his throat, though that didn’t do anything to disguise his husky tone. He blinked a few times and placed his hand on the door handle, pushing down and swinging the door open in a strange sort of desperation. “I’ll be sure to read this over soon, good day.”

“To you as well, Salieri.” Though he might as well have not said his own goodbye, Salieri had shoved himself out of the room like his life depended on it. Mozart remained where he stood, grateful for his quick thinking, though wondering if Salieri would actually do what Mozart hoped he would.

That part of his mind he had pushed down a few times came back with a force, demanding him to think about that first thought: the first word that came to him was _alluring_ when he thought of Salieri?

Mozart shrugged to himself. He had felt attracted to men before- it wasn’t something that made him feel strange or wrong. What he wasn’t sure about was the kind of attraction he felt towards Salieri. The man was undeniably charming- no, that wasn’t the right word… beautiful? No, that was far too simple- that smile he had as he sung was absolutely… transcendent. Mozart felt the corners of his mouth tug up at the memory, the dying light of the sunset framing Salieri as he moved, holding his violin as tenderly as he might a lover as long fingers pressed gingerly down on the strings… _and his voice_ … Mozart knew that no matter how much time he was given, no composition he could create could hope to rival such a heavenly sound.

But the more and more he thought, this didn’t feel like just the usual attraction he was so used to. Yes, the image of Salieri sprawled under him throwing his head back against a pillow, rapturous notes spilling out of him with no restraint was _more_ than appealing to Mozart… there was something else, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on… 

He shook his head of wandering thoughts, knowing that he felt something towards his fellow composer, and that Salieri most certainly felt something toward him as well. Perhaps those feelings weren’t too different.

~~~~~~~~~~

Mozart turned to his audience and bowed, still not quite used to the roaring applause that followed immediately after. He raised himself up again, scanning the seats for a particular face. He smiled at Constance and his sister as they cheered and whispered excitedly to each other, seeing their hands entwined after they finished clapping making him feel warm in his chest. He was glad Nannerl decided to move to Vienna after their father died, glad she and Constance were such a perfect match like he hoped they would be.

He nodded to Lorenzo, who mouthed a quick ‘congratulations,’ and rolled his eyes at a very annoyed Rosenberg, holding back the temptation to stick his tongue out at the man.

But his eyes locked onto those of a particular composer sitting just in his sight, large dark eyes watching him intently, and blinking in surprise when they realised he was watching him. Mozart smiled lazily at Salieri, cocking his head to the side as he waited for a reaction. Salieri merely nodded, looked away and licked his lips quickly. 

Mozart wondered if Salieri was singing with Catarina as the orchestra played the aria, feeling the craving to hear him sing again, the one that made itself well known only a few hours after Salieri left the music room. 

In the salon, Mozart walked around quickly, trying not to crash into people as he searched for a tall figure clad in black. It wasn’t too hard thankfully, he stood out quite well against the multitude of other, brighter colors around him, and he was always in the corner of parties, trying to stay out of they way of others and avoid conversation at all cost.

And apparently, Mozart noted, he stayed far enough away from everyone else that, most likely, no one could hear him sing. Mozart slowly made his way towards him as he stared down into his full wine glass, his mouth moving perfectly to the words of the aria Mozart just conducted. He got closer, and Salieri didn’t seem to notice him, his eyes closed as he traced the rim of the glass with a long, entrancing finger.

“Ah, Herr Mozart!” He jumped as a small weight crashed into him, latching onto his arm and nearly knocking him over. “You were simply outstanding tonight!”

“Thank you, Fräulein.” He took her hands and tried to pry them off him, seeing Salieri stare at him out of the corner of his eye.

_Damn it._

“You’ve found him, Hanna!” Another girl crashed into his opposite arm, clearly a sister to the first.“Herr Mozart, you were outstanding, absolutely magnificent!”

“Thank you very much, Fräulein,” He looked over to Salieri who was now staring at him fully, watching him with great interest. Mozart was certain nervousness wasn’t a look he usually had when two beautiful girls were hanging off him. “I’m sorry, you two are very lovely, but I really must-”

“Herr Mozart, would you be so kind as to speak with our father?” The first girl, Hanna, asked with pleading eyes. “Emma and I have tried our best to convince him to allow us to take vocal lessons, but he insists it’s a waste of time.”

“We thought perhaps you would be able to help us? We can show you just how well we sound?” Emma asked, though with how she and her sister were pressing their chests just a little too much into Mozart’s arms, he doubted that was her and her sister’s true intent.

On any other night, he would have felt ecstatic at the current situation. But watching Salieri place his glass on the tray of a server walking past him and promptly walking out of sight without so much as another glance in his direction left him only feeling empty and disappointed. He could only suppress a groan as the girls dragged him off, just able to see a confused Lorenzo following Salieri.

~~~~~~~~~~

Mozart straightened his coat and ran a hand through his hair, knowing it was most likely still a little bit messy from his night with the sisters. His shoes clacked against the pristine floor tiles of the palace as he made his way to the music room, wondering what Lorenzo wanted to meet with him about. The work on the commissioned opera was progressing smoothly, even without the part he lent to Salieri they were far ahead of schedule. They had no real reason to-

Mozart abruptly halted in front of a closed room, a voice smooth as velvet had flowed through the space below the door and wrapped around him in a dark, enchanting embrace, pulling him to the door until he had to press his ear against it. His hand trailed down the smooth wood as he listened, Salieri’s voice like a siren’s song with how it coiled around his bones and made him shiver, though there was a certain sweetness coating the tones, caring and… the notes sounded familiar… was that the opera he’d given him to look over?

Mozart was relieved to have given it to him.

He’d only wondered if Salieri had sung his work at the concert, but to actually _hear_ him sing it… oh, Mozart could think of no sound more intoxicating.

It was like a drug.

One he maybe should have worried about getting too addicted to, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

His thoughts were jerked to a stop, though, for his hand slipped a bit too low and fell upon the door handle and, before he could stop it, the door swung open. And, unfortunately, with Mozart pressed right against the door with no support, he fell face first onto the ground.

The ground of Salieri’s classroom. Where the man stood not too far away at his desk, a stack of papers held in his hand.

Mozart debated not even getting up from the floor, unsure of exactly what he would say or do, perhaps he should just accept his fate and remain on the cold tiles-

“Maestro Salieri?”

_Damn it all._

One of Salieri’s students was standing next to Mozart, his voice clearly confused and hesitant, wondering if he had walked in at a bad time.

“Oh, don’t mind Maestro Mozart, Joseph,” Salieri said quickly, taking a few steps towards where Joseph stood and Mozart lay, “I assure you, this isn’t nearly the strangest situation I’ve found him in.”

Mozart exhaled through his nose and scrunched his eyes shut, forcing himself from the ground and wracking his brain to think of any reason to be falling through the door other than _your singing hypnotized me._

“Maestro Salieri,” he began, trying to remain confident as Salieri raised a questioning eyebrow at him, “I was just coming by to see if you had taken a look at my opera at all. Lorenzo and I are almost finished and I would like to put it together completely soon.”

Salieri’s expression, as to be expected, was unreadable. He had to have known that was a lie, or at least known there was more to it. But whatever he was thinking, Mozart couldn’t begin to figure out. Salieri looked from Mozart to the music sheets held in his hands, and for a second, Mozart thought he saw a bit of hesitation in Salieri’s large eyes, and knew he was feeling something intense at the sight of his ever so slightly shaking hands.

“I’ve gone over the first part of it, yes,” He walked over to his desk and opened a drawer, placing the sheets inside and closing it silently, refusing to look at Mozart anymore, “I’ll be sure to make some more notes on the rest of it by the end of the day.”

“Good.” Mozart nodded, not too sure what to think. Salieri clearly showed care and devoted much attention to his music, but Mozart couldn’t help but wonder if he would show the same to him. “Very good.”

He stood still for another second, before the silence pierced through him, letting him know he had overstayed whatever welcome ha may or may not have had. Mozart bowed low to Salieri and his student before turning on his heel and striding out of the room, heading towards the music room where Lorenzo was surely waiting for him.

Salieri was far too difficult to understand for him, and the man wasn’t exactly helping him learn how. Mozart knew the basics; Salieri was deeply infatuated with his music, and that he was far more soft-hearted than he first thought. He only needed to find out how to get close enough to Salieri for him to want to show that side, learn whatever pattern or circumstances needed to happen for Salieri to sing.

Mozart scratched his head as he walked, wondering who would be close enough to Salieri to know that information.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Antonio singing?” Lorenzo asked, raising his brows in amusement. Mozart placed his face in his hands.

“I heard him once, a few days ago. I think he was testing out a composition he was making, and he- his violin and… his _voice_ was…” Mozart leaned back in his chair and sighed, closing his eyes as he remembered just how divine Salieri looked. “His voice is more than sublime, Lorenzo. It’s indescribable. Having a voice like that should be a _sin_ , it’s so lovely...”

Lorenzo stared at him for a moment, grinning and shaking his head. “Antonio certainly does have a wonderful voice, Catarina should be relived he prefers composing.”

“You’ve heard him?” Mozart leaned forward on the desk, his elbows digging into the wood.

“Not with his permission.” Lorenzo merely looked down at the sheets of music they had, speaking as if they were merely discussing the weather. “Much like you, I walked in on him- he wasn't very happy about that. And I don’t think his voice affected me nearly as much as it did you.”

“What do you mean,” Mozart cocked his head, “affected nearly as much?”

“... Wolfgang.” Lorenzo put down the sheets and sat up straight, taking on a serious tone. “Antonio’s voice is certainly something special, but I remember seeing you being dragged away from him by those sisters in the salon after your concert. I heard you crash into Antonio’s office on my way here, and seeing you think about just his voice… my friend, that kind of affection and attention does not arise from simple admiration alone.”

“Are you saying that I…” Mozart wasn’t defensive when he spoke or necessarily upset. He was curious at Lorenzo’s theory, especially when he considered how often he had begun to picture Salieri after that day, basked in light and smiling so lovingly… Salieri’s expression when reading his music was certainly something mesmerizing and Mozart would daresay it was one of the most heavenly sights he’d seen, but that smile… those closed eyes…

Was this really love?

Had he felt this way with anyone else? Aloysia? It was similar, he realized, but this felt genuine… lasting… it felt _real,_ felt _true_. Could these feelings really be held for someone like Antonio Salieri, thought? Mozart had admired the man for long enough, and though there were some other, more... forbidden desires he’d begun feeling towards him, these feelings… 

Antonio Salieri wasn’t just bewitching and alluring to Mozart, he was absolutely radiant, transcendent… 

“I’m not saying anything with certainty,” Lorenzo replied slowly, choosing his words carefully. “I’m only going off of what I have felt, and how your sister and Frau Weber describe each other.”

Mozart smiled at the image of Nannerl and Constance together, his heart warm at the thought that maybe he could have a relationship as lovely as theirs.

“Maybe you are right, Lorenzo. Part of me hopes you are.” Mozart exhaled, though a nagging feeling settled uncomfortably in the back of his mind. “But, does  
Antonio… has he ever spoken about me like this to you? Do you think he could feel the same?”

“Oh, my dear Mozart,” Lorenzo held his shoulder comfortingly and leaned in. “You have no idea.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Mozart walked out into the palace gardens, Lorenzo’s recounting of Antonio’s confidings running a mile a minute through his head.

How even though Mozart was a barely containable flame of energy that had the tendency to burn itself out quicker than it could gather oxygen to stay alive, he wanted to know more. Even though he knew he was his rival, someone to compete with until the end, that he wanted to get to know the Austrian composer better, know just what went on inside the head that created the music carving itself into his heart. How he found himself singing more than usual in the hopes that Mozart would come and listen to him after that first incident, that he would be able to see his serene expression as his voice sank into his skin and visibly melted any stress he felt away.

The laugh that Mozart for so long thought Antonio despised, Lorenzo said he found endearing for reasons he couldn’t understand. The girls hanging on him, like those at the salon, making a coil tighten itself around his stomach so tightly he thought himself sick, confused and even a tad scared at the intenseness of his reactions.

When Lorenzo told him it was a deep affection for Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart he was feeling after he’d followed him out of the salon, he thought Lorenzo was merely joking with him, Mozart was idiotic, naive, immature, adorable, endearing, amazing, allur- _oh, no._

Lorenzo had said that Antonio had come to him earlier today, panicking at the suspicion that perhaps he was right. Antonio knew he felt something, but was terrified of it, leaving Mozart to wonder just how many relationships the Italian had been in, and how many of them ended in heartbreak.

Mozart knew a broken heart was not something one could easily recover from, his heart still cracked a little anytime someone even mentioned Aloysia. 

He shoved the thought to the back of his head, placing his hand on the thick trunk of the tree Lorenzo pointed out to him through the window earlier, looking up into its vibrant expanse of dense green leaves. Lorenzo said that the only time he knew Antonio was guaranteed to sing was when he was sure he was alone, and he came to the palace gardens to be alone. Perhaps he would be able hear him again here, if he needed to.

Releasing a deep breath, Mozart reached up and began climbing the tree, knowing the only way for Antonio to believe he was alone was for him to not see him. The bushes were too small to hide behind, so the tree would have to do.

Something told him that was a bad idea, but Mozart was never really one for being careful or planning too far ahead, unfortunately, so as he finally came upon a branch he deemed high enough to stay out of sight but low enough to remain within earshot, he shoved the worry to the back of his mind. He nestled himself as comfortably as he could on the branch, looking out at the sun, high in the cloudless sky.

What time did Lorenzo say Antonio usually came out to the gardens?

… What time was it now, actually? Had Mozart bothered to check?

Oh, dear. How long would he be up here for?

~~~~~~~~~~

Only about twenty minutes or so, truthfully, though with Mozart being as restless as he was, any amount of time was too long. He didn’t notice Antonio at first as the man settled calmly in his spot at the base of the tree. Only when Mozart heard the sound of a satchel opening and papers rustling did he look down to see him leaning against the trunk of his tree, not seeming to notice him at all.

Mozart held onto the branch to steady himself, the bark digging into his palms until they stung. It was a little hard to make out from his height, but there was no mistaking it, that was the sheet music for his opera Antonio was trailing his fingers down, tracing each note with a tenderness that made Mozart’s stomach flip in excitement. Perhaps Lorenzo really was right after all, and Mozart didn’t find himself worried about it.

This nervous excitement settling in him made his aching heart leap, though he only wondered if Antonio could ever feel the same- no, _allow_ himself to feel the same. If Lorenzo wasn’t just trying to get his hopes up or have him make a fool of himself, then Antonio definitely felt some desire for an intimate, romantic relationship. And if he could find it in himself to push past the anxiety and give Mozart a chance, then maybe…

Mozart’s trail of thoughts was cut off at the sound of a clear, rich voice attracting him, and he looked down to see Antonio holding a hand to his chest as he sang Mozart’s lyrics. He was brought back to the first time he heard Antonio’s mesmeric voice, not behind a closed door or from across a crowded room, but just the two of them, no one else. Just them. Mozart only wished Antonio would know he was there, acknowledge him, oh, if he would sing to him-

Mozart’s heart ached pleasantly at the thought, and he closed his eyes as the sweetly sublime sounds enveloped him. They coaxed him into relaxing, slouching and shifting his weight to one arm and lean his head down just enough to hear just a little better-

But even that was too much.

Mozart gasped as he lost his grip, his heart pressing frantically against the back of his ribcage as he tumbled downward, tightly shutting his eyes and curling in as much as he could to protect himself. But nothing could have stopped the excruciating pain blossoming in his left shoulder as he collided with the hard ground, groaning and bringing one hand to his painfully dizzy head as he curled in tighter, though every movement just made everything so, so much worse-

“Mozart?”

_Damn it all to hell._

“Mozart.” Antonio spoke again in a firmer voice, and Mozart flinched at whatever he was going to say next. Antonio lifted a hand up, but stopped his movement as he looked the man over. “Mozart, are you-”

“I wanted…” Mozart didn’t let him finish, speaking in a choked voice as tears stung his eyes, heart beating too fast in his ears to even begin trying to hear anything else. “I wanted to hear you sing again.”

“You… what?” 

“In the music room- when I slammed on the piano. You were...” Mozart closed his eyes, wanting to focus on not getting his words wrong. “After that, I… I wanted to hear more. At the concert, I saw you singing my aria, tried to get to you but those girls-”

“Mozart, you need to-”

“When I fell into your office, I lied about coming to get my opera- I was passing by and heard you singing and… I leaned against the door to try and hear better and  
accidentally opened it, fell in.”

“... Mozart…” Antonio sighed, taking Mozart’s uninjured shoulder and pushing him gently to lay on his back, despite Mozart’s pained whimpering.

“I’m sorry, I just…” Mozart began, trailing off as he wasn’t sure what to say, and the hot tears trailing down the sides of his face weren’t helping him calm down. He only breathed harder, though that just made everything hurt more and nothing was stopping it and Antonio was furious, he had to be and-

“Mozart!” He opened his eyes and he stared up into the determined, calm face of Antonio Salieri looking down at him. “Breathe. Slowly.”

But how could he? Antonio wouldn’t want to speak to him after this, he’d never hear him sing again and he couldn’t breathe right and he tried so hard to but he just couldn’t do it and-

“Wait here.” Antonio stood up quickly, Mozart feeling even more panicked than before. “Don’t move, Mozart- at all, understand?”

“I’m sorry, Antonio.” He exhaled, shaking his head and trying to sit up despite the screaming pain shooting down his shoulder and spine. “I- I just… please don’t be angry with me-”

“Wolfgang.” Antonio knelt back down and placed the fingers of one hand down on his chest and his other hand on his forehead, gently pushing him back down to the ground and stopping him from moving, though Mozart was already stunned into stillness at the sound of his first name in Antonio's voice. “I’m going to get the doctor, Da Ponte, and your sister. Please, don’t move.”

“I’m so-”

_“Wolfgang.”_

Concern… unmistakably, that was concern lacing his voice. At first Mozart might have thought it was annoyance, but seeing the worried glint in Antonio’s dark eyes assured him it was not.

But even if he was concerned, he still must have been…

“Are you angry?” Wolfgang Mozart asked in a small voice, blinking away tears.

Antonio stared at him for a moment with wide eyes. He stood up once more.

“I should be.” Was all he said before walking quickly back to the palace, leaving Wolfgang alone to stew in his thoughts, the fire coursing through him from his shoulder the least painful thing he was feeling.

~~~~~~~~~~

Silence. That’s all there was.

Pressing the piano keys made a momentary, toneless sound echo throughout the room, only to leave again, making room for the deafening silence as he sat slouched at the piano bench, aware of how empty the music room was, aware of his breathing and the dull ache in his bandaged shoulder and just how cold he was after removing his overcoat.

Though it was probably only a few minutes at most, it certainly felt like days before the palace doctor came rushing out with Lorenzo and Nannerl at his heels, the latter two worrying over Wolfgang like mother hens and asking what in the world happened while the doctor carefully took off his coat and part of his shirt to look at his shoulder. But the entire time Wolfgang was only listening for a fourth person, his heart sinking when three helped him into the palace and he still hadn’t seen Antonio.

Despite insistence from the doctor and Nannerl that he needed to go home and rest, Wolfgang demanded to stay at the palace. In the end, Lorenzo decided to stay with him in the music room, reassuring him that with both parts of the Noble’s opera commission together now, they could look it over one last time later. He asked Wolfgang to play something, come up with something new, knowing that would cheer him up some. 

Well, thinking it would, at least.

Wolfgang tried to play, pressing a few keys in the hopes that his intuition would lead him to the next note, then the next and the next until he felt the song had met a satisfying end. Only now, his intuition and creativity were off sulking somewhere in his head.

Lorenzo sighed and patted Wolfgang’s good shoulder, standing and leaving without a word, though with a determined stride and angry curses muttered under his breath. Wolfgang wasn’t sure if or when he’d come back and, as much as it pained him to say, he didn’t much care. Knowing that Lorenzo wanted to help was nice, but wasn’t what he wanted.

_“I should be.”_

What had he meant? There was no malice or contempt in his voice, just pure honesty. Was he forcing distance between him and Wolfgang? He had admitted to trying to catch Antonio when he was most vulnerable, the man must have been trying to protect himself from him.

The thought made Wolfgang shudder. He hadn’t meant to scare Antonio, he only wanted to hear him sing… 

Though that singing, those dark, warm tones weren’t his to hear. They never were.

Wolfgang tapped the C key on the piano, the sound leaving as quickly as it came. He raised both hands and slowly, lazily tapped out a few more notes. The silence was filled for a moment, hollow sounds bouncing across the walls only because they _had_ to, not because they _wanted_ to. With a defeated sigh, he edged to the right side of the bench and leaned against an elbow at the edge of the bench. The piano couldn't make the sounds Wolfgang wanted to hear.

_Needed_ to hear.

But he couldn’t. No matter how numb he felt. Antonio’s voice was for him alone, not others.

Wolfgang would learn to accept that, just like he accepted Aloysia’s engagement.

The door to the music room opened behind him, and Wolfgang ghosted his hands across the keys, not bothering to look over to Lorenzo.

But- wait, that voice… soft, dark, mesmerizing tones warming his shivering body… that wasn’t anything like Lorenzo’s-

_Antonio._

Wolfgang’s hands froze, unsure of what to do. Antonio wasn’t singing anything in particular, just a vocalization. Though as simple as it was, Wolfgang already felt himself giving in to Antonio’s gentle, inviting voice and letting his stiff shoulders fall with a silent sigh.

… Why though? He said he should have been angry, why come now? 

Was he doing this out of pity? Did he really want to sing, or was this just possible guilt?

Antonio was closer now, and when Wolfgang dared to turn his head in his direction, he caught a glimpse of the back of his pitch black overcoat, sitting to his left on the piano bench. Wolfgang took a deep breath and wrung his wrists, blinking as he straightened himself and wracked his brain to come up with a proper apology-

But _oh, those quiet, low whispers,_ they were ambrosia dripping over his broken heart, filling in the seams and promising to mend everything that was threatening to shatter and lovingly caressing the scars left by past tragedies. He closed his eyes and flexed his fingers, running his hands over the keys as Antonio continued to sing.

Wolfgang didn’t think about pressing down on the first key, only about how Antonio’s voice was reaching a small crescendo, and Wolfgang’s fingers were itching to catch up to him.

The song started out hesitant, testing newfound territory, but Antonio gently nudged him along, slowing down and speeding up with Wolfgang's playing. But as they continued on they sped up, Antonio even beginning to create some lyrics that Wolfgang only half paid attention to, far too caught up in creating his symphony as he played, his mid moving almost too fast for him to keep up. Notes bounced around in his head, vibrant and energized as he released them, ricocheting off the walls and dancing with Antonio’s voice, his transcendent, honeyed voice that held him close, warm velvet wrapping around him and holding tight with no intention to let go. 

Wolfgang knew the end of the song was coming, though he wasn’t entirely sure how long it had even been going on for, and his fingers walked as far as they could down the left side of the piano to their destined last key, until searing pain spiked from his shoulder to his fingers and he stopped for a second, gasping. Determined to finish the song, though, he tried to stretch his arm out again despite the pain, only making it a few more centimeters before the last key was played by another hand.

He opened his eyes to see Antonio’s pale fingers pressing down on the key he was aiming for, and he drew his hand back enough for the exploding pain in his arm to quiet down. He wanted to smile, only to realize he already was- when had that happened?

He didn’t think too much on it though; Antonio’s hand, having left the key in favor of carefully covering the back of his, was warm and calloused and safe. He hesitantly glanced up to Antonio, who watched him intently.

Wolfgang’s mouth went dry, and he opened it to speak before-

“I’m sorry, Wolfgang.”

He blinked, and sat up a bit straighter to look at Antonio properly, though careful not to move his left hand.

“I’ve never…” Antonio paused, looking around the room at anywhere but Wolfgang before finally bringing his gentle, fearful dark eyes back to him. “I’ve never been very good with… romance. Any I was involved in only ended in sadness, so when Da Ponte told me that what I felt after seeing those girls hang all over you was envy, that I might…” He took a deep breath and Wolfgang squeezed his hand carefully, earning a squeeze back. 

“I was defensive at first. But after thinking back to that day when you first saw me sing, I wasn’t angry or upset, but relieved that it had been you rather than anyone else… Then the girls, and when you fell into my classroom-” Antonio chuckled, sending shivers down Wolfgang’s spine. “I was more confused than anything by that last one, but had a feeling that you didn’t decide to make such an entrance to ask about your opera. I wondered if perhaps you were feeling what I was feeling for you. You got my hopes up. It…”

Antonio shook his head and took a breath. “It terrified me. I've already had my heart broken by some I had faith in, but someone that I couldn’t even trust to sit still during an audience with the Emperor- I didn’t know what to do. But then- in the garden, when you broke down and apologized for things I wasn’t even angry at you for… I knew.”

Antonio turned to face him, both of his hands now holding Wolfgang’s.

“I knew I had you figured all wrong, Wolfgang. And seeing you like that, crying, panicked, hurting... it made me feel sick. When you asked me if I was angry I froze, and what I said… Wolfgang, I wasn’t thinking…”

“I understand, Antonio.” Wolfgang smiled to him, sad and genuine. “I was trying to catch you when you were vulnerable, when you thought you were safe. It wasn’t okay for me to do. You were trying to protect yourself.”

“Wolfgang.” Antonio sighed, shaking his head. “Did you not hear me when I said I was relieved when I saw it was you who heard me singing?”

Wolfgang cocked his head, and Antonio looked away for a moment… was he blushing?

“Believe me, if I wasn’t alright with you hearing me sing, you would have known right away.” Antonio removed one of his hands from Wolfgang’s and brushed his fingers across his left shoulder. “Did you really not think to just ask? You had to resort to climbing in- and falling out of- a tree?”

“You’re not exactly the most approachable person when it comes to such things, Salieri,” Wolfgang grinned, “besides I think it’s quite fitting.”

“Do you now?” Antonio raised a questioning eyebrow. “How so?”

“Well, it means I truly fell for you-”

Antonio grabbed the back of Wolfgang’s head and pulled him into his shoulder, nestling his face in Wolfgang’s hair as he brought their entwined hands to his chest, above his heart.

“ _Mio Dio_. Sei un fottuto idiota, Mozart.” Antonio mumbled, earning a muffled giggle from Wolfgang. “... Lorenzo aveva ragione, però. Siamo entrambi degli idioti…” 

A few indiscernible words from Wolfgang made Antonio roll his eyes and chuckle, and he turned his head so he could speak. 

“Where did Lorenzo go? He was here a while ago… I recall he looked quite angry, like he had annoying business to take care of.”

“Yes, that would have been me.” Antonio admitted, unconsciously tangling his fingers in Wolfgang’s hair, much to the other man’s surprise and pleasure. “After I got the doctor, I promised Lorenzo I would come talk to you. I suppose he got fed up with waiting for me to figure out my own feelings and gave me a very, very vivid description of just how heartbroken and lost you were.”

Antonio sighed. “It felt like a punch to the throat…. I’m truly sorry, Wolfgang. I didn’t realize what leaving you like that would do…”

Wolfgang smiled to himself and looked to their held hands, using his free arm to wrap around Antonio’s shoulders and force his head up.

“I’ll forgive you, Antonio, though only if you do one thing for me.”

Antonio looked to him intently and hummed, prompting Wolfgang to continue. He nestled his head in the crook of Antonio’s neck, where he could feel the vibrations of his voice perfectly.

“Sing for me?”

Antonio gave him a small smile. “Of course.”

~~~~~~~~~~

**Epilogue**

Wolfgang closed his eyes, laying his head against Antonio’s shoulder as they lay together on the couch in Antonio’s classroom. He sang the sweetest, most seductive tones Wolfgang had ever heard, and his toes curled as the Italian hit a high note. He sighed, moving his left arm to drape across Antonio’s chest and play with the frills around his brooch. He waited until Antonio took a pause to breathe before speaking.

“What song is this?” Wolfgang asked, “I remember parts of it, though I can’t quite remember it all.” Antonio brought his hand up to lazily play with Wolfgang’s hair, and in response the composer pushed his head up to feel more of Antonio’s long fingers tangled in his tresses. Antonio chuckled.

“This is the opera I was composing earlier this week. The one you walked in on me singing, I thought you might want to hear the end of it.”

Wolfgang yawned and nodded, smiling when an arm was slung across his back, holding him close and gripping lightly onto the black overcoat he was using as a blanket. “It’s absolutely exquisite, Antonio.”

Antonio nodded his thanks, pleased he felt no need to compare his work to Wolfgang’s, instead finding that there was nothing more he wanted to do than to continue his song. After the first half of it, he’d concluded that his singing indeed had the same entrancing effect on Wolfgang as the Austrian’s compositions had on him, seeing his face light up in bliss and his lips curling in a content- though when Antonio hit certain notes- sometimes suggestive grin. Even feeling his heart beat a little harder and his fingers lightly, perhaps unconsciously, gripping his shirt a few times, encouraging Antonio to try and repeat those notes again. 

Antonio grinned to himself, he had already thought of a few ways to have some fun with that.

But for now he continued to sing, unaware that Wolfgang had turned his head up to watch him do so. A sleepy grin spread across his face as he stared up at Antonio’s serene smile and closed eyes. His voice was certainly sonorous, mysterious, and alluringly lovely in every way, dark red velvet that shone deep purple in some lights, and Wolfgang adored the shivers it brought as well as the wave of safety and security of the gentle notes.

His voice was flawless in every way to Wolfgang, and his expression when singing brought the perfect harmony. His eyes closed when he didn’t have to read off of sheet music, though sometimes when he decided to take a look at his audience his eyes were half-lidded and pupils dilated, though Wolfgang wasn’t certain if that was from singing or seeing the effects of his singing. His smile, Wolfgang was convinced, was the most enchanting thing he would ever see in his life, rose-colored lips he felt a growing desire to kiss more and more.

Antonio was absolutely divine, and Wolfgang…

He really did, didn’t he?

Feeling himself teetering on the edge of sleep, Wolfgang pulled himself up and kissed Antonio’s cheek. The man stopped singing, watching his partner lay back down and close his eyes.

“It’s a treasure to love you, Antonio Salieri.”

And without another thought, Wolfgang fell asleep.

Antonio chuckled, bringing his lips down to brush against his hair, only to go lower to his forehead and lay a delicate kiss.

“If loving me is a treasure, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, then loving you is an absolute honor.”

He held him close and sighed into Wolfgang’s hair, resting his cheek against his head as he, too, drifted off to sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~

From the other side of the ajar classroom door, three figures carefully closed the door, then dashed down the hall, hoping they weren’t heard by the occupants they just got finished watching.

“We told you, Herr Da Ponte,” Nannerl laughed, holding out her hand expectantly as Constance looked at the man triumphantly, “Wolfgang would confess first.”  
Lorenzo crossed his arms defiantly. “Antonio confessed as well, though!”

“After Wolfgang!” Constance reminded him, “A bet’s a bet, Herr Da Ponte!”

Nannerl looked to her proudly, then back at Lorenzo, rubbing her index and middle finger against her thumb. Lorenzo opened his mouth and stuttered a bit, only to reach into his pocket and begrudgingly deposit the money he retrieved from it into Nannerl’s palm.

Nannerl counted the money before grinning in satisfaction, lacing her fingers with Constance’s.

“Would you be available for a night on the town, my lady?” She asked, curtsying politely.

Constance did the same. “Of course, Mademoiselle!”

The two laughed and strided off, whispering to each other excitedly about Nannerl’s brother and his lover. Lorenzo was left alone to lament his lost wealth, only to jump in surprise as he remembered a meeting with a close… friend, the older brother of a certain Italian composer, and walked down the hall with a new spring in his step.

**Author's Note:**

> Basically I thought "if Mozart's compositions make Antonio feel such intense emotions, what could Antonio do to create the same effect on Mozart?" The only thing I could think of was singing.
> 
> I just kinda banged it out in like two days and had a friend proofread it for me, so there are probably still a few things weird about it, still not sure if Mozart and Salieri are out of character at all. Also I'm not great with titles or summaries- but here it is! Thanks for reading!


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